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my brain’s a big bumblebee
floating and fluttering
wherever its
creased heart desires

its indented lines
- or black and yellow stripes -
wisps of a weary world;

corollaries of
the honey
and the rain
and the earth’s
ambiguous haze
that’s sent so many
flailing flip-flops
at me
- but also -
it’s sent
bundles of exuberance
in the form of
wistful wisteria

those
weeping
purple bundles
and my big bumblebee brain
sharing whispered secrets
so that not even
- the universe -
can listen
- can soil -
our untapped honey
jubilance
dripping out of our
full bright sprightly
grins.

so
- this -
is an ode
not
to my big bumblebee brain
bumbling through life
unperturbed and acquiescing,
but
to the flailing flip-flop
who knows no better
than attempting to
dismantle and drain
our syrupy soporific
honey secrets.

after all,
that flip-flop
does save
the fragile foot
with its wet tissue delicacy
from jagged pebbles
who also
know no better.

don’t you see;
everything is cyclical,
which is why,
my big bumblebee brain
will attempt
to sting
your ignorant skin
into submission

for no other reason
than to reach
the completion
of this sick cycle;

the same reason
the flailing flip-flop
flails for my
bumblebee brain’s
ignorance
and one day
will splatter it
all over
its hardy, weathered bottom.


ah,
how’s the old
vonnegut saying
go?
i got a
head
full o’
wet concrete
leakin’ out
my ears

dense
heavy
gray
wet
concrete.

they say,
“you got
dumb-for-brains
pavement head!”

i say,
i’ve got a
blank
finger painting
canvas
for those
influential souls
to carve in
their initials
the year
****
maybe even
a smiley face

and be remembered
for an eternity
plus 10

that is,
once my
wet
concrete
brain

dries
and
hardens.
Caleb Nathan Oct 2018
fruit flies
whisper
in the ears
of house cats

thinking that
they’re commanding
god-willing lions

so no;
i will not
scribble insignificances
on some
toilet paper ballot.

i’d rather
pocket
my dignity
where it belongs:

up my own ***
Caleb Nathan Sep 2018
idiosyncrasies
swirl in the wind
and fall from the trees

sometimes
i wonder
if these things
were better
left in my head

crushed and
left for dead
on a busy
september sidewalk

as i chide myself
for saying something
awkward
during my last
conversation;

autumnal self-alienation
all inside
the walls of my head
Caleb Nathan Aug 2018
my kind
your kind
is not too kind
to each other

as we wind
down this bend
propelled by this
rather wicked wind
under our wings

crossed in the crossfire
of two hearts
hopelessly in ****

adjacently hurtful
on a land that
egregiously haunts

pouring skeletons
out of a seemingly
empty closet

into minds
too eager to
accept them

lost in the woods
on a path headed
towards obscurity
away from the commotion

and i’ve got me
right where
i want me
Caleb Nathan Aug 2018
the clock
ticks

the seconds
slip
through my
fingertips

and my
memories
of you

well,
they float
and flutter

where there
is no space
or time.

an untapped
atmosphere
of existential
perfection

that i wish
i could hold
onto
endlessly.
Caleb Nathan Jul 2018
it was a red brick building. crumbling
around the edges like mom’s homemade
died and gone to heaven peach pie but
not nearly as filling or fulfilling or
delicious no this was a little
bit sore on the oculars the bleeding red bricks
crying with bloodshot eyes and outreached
hands i mean rusted railings no longer
black but a dusted ***** orange in the
worst sense of the description so when it
was torn down nobody lost any sleep

but the sad thing was, it was a
constant in most people’s lives and even
though it was **** and it constantly beat and battered
passerby’s eyes it was ***** and felt
comfortable like the smell of whisky on grandpa’s
breath and the feel of his strong and callassed
and wrinkled hands so when it finally got torn
down for real it really was bittersweet but that’s
a cliched word for a cliched poem so i might as
well throw it in here and just say that
the building was destroyed the red holey
bricks crumbled for good but what lay
in its wake was acutely serene and had a
disturbing sense of clarity in the best sense
of the phrase and all i can say about this is

that it was a ******* pile that lied there there’s
no denying it except it was so full of heavenly
tranquility even more so than the still water mirror
of an early morning fall pond resting so evenly
in its earth hole that it looks as if it was glued
there and although it was the diabolical destruction
of some government construction monopoly
it was also the beautiful creation of something
new and the calm that lay there after the storm
may have not been better than what was before
and may have not had the same energy or
character or moxie but it was definitely
different and if there’s
one thing for sure it was that it was

anew
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